


Turning Grand

by eclecticanarchist



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bisexual Percival Graves, Bisexual Theseus Scamander, Gellert Grindelwald Being an Asshole, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Original Percival Graves & Theseus Scamander Friendship, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Valet Original Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:43:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclecticanarchist/pseuds/eclecticanarchist
Summary: Historical au wherein Newt comes home to write his manuscript, Percival is Theseus' valet and has a HUGE crush, and Grindelwald is up to no good.





	1. Welcome Home, Newt!

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in a while and never for these two dorks but I watched Miss Julie last night and this kinda spilled out. Unedited and written on very little sleep so please forgive my mistakes :)

Newt hadn’t been home in five years. Five years travelling the world, collecting information for his book, and yet as the walls of his childhood home rose quickly against the horizon it seemed no more than five days. Newt settled back in his seat, careful not to upset the kitten snuggled against his chest. Theseus was expecting him, and Newt was beyond excited at the prospect of seeing his brother again, but beneath that a worm of anxiety twisted in his gut. According to Theseus' most recent letter, there was group of the political elite staying at the estate while attending a nearby conference.

The brothers grew up very close, and hadn’t been separated for five continuous years since the outbreak of war, preferring to remain close afterwards. They had their fair share of nightmares from the front, but being together fortified them and made nights that sent them lurching out of bed, sick with fear, more bearable. It was Theseus’ idea for him to return home to write his manuscript, he said it would help his creative energy if he was somewhere familiar.Newt thought that the imposed medical leave was also a contributing factor to his brother’s eagerness to have his little brother home, especially since country life bored Theseus half to death. 

Newt was living in Cairo when he heard news of Theseus’ injury; a rogue shot into a crowd of military up-and-ups at a commendation ceremony had buried itself in Theseus’ upper thigh, leaving the man bedridden for a good six months. Newt had offered to come home then, but Theseus had urged him to continue his travels and save him the embarrassment of his brother seeing him as an invalid. There was an honest edge to that letter that belied any argument, so Newt hurried to finish up the last five months of his research and headed home to England.

Now, as the carriage jumped and rattled over the dirt road leading up the driveway newt felt a surge of familiarity. The house peeking over the trees lining the road was a large stone affair left that had been in the Scamander name since the 17th century. From open windows trickled the sound of light music and laughter, no doubt Theseus’ guests enjoying the cool fall breeze over after-dinner drinks. As the carriage came to a halt, depositing Newt on the gravel walk, an especially raucous bout of laughter burst out of the house. Newt winced. He been away from home too long to deal with inebriated English gentry on his first night back.

With a sigh he bid goodnight to the driver and picked up his suitcase, determined to find a route inside that steered clear of the crush of partygoers. As a boy, he explored his home from top to bottom, racing on Theseus’ heels as his brother tore through grand halls and servants passages alike. As such, he was no stranger to the solid unobtrusive side door that swung open into the kitchen pantry with nary a squeak. Whoever Theseus had running the household was doing an excellent job, Newt couldn’t remember a time when that old door didn’t squeak and groan at the lightest shove.

“I could order you to.” Newt rounded the corner into the kitchen only to freeze at the sound of voices. His breath caught as he quickly jerked back around the corner, the image of a dapper man leaning casually against the kitchen table. Newt couldn’t see whoever he was addressing, but the man in front of him was clearly one of Theseus’ visiting diplomats.

“I could order you to do anything I wanted,” purred a rich voice. Newt couldn’t recognize the owner of the voice. He had an accent, eastern European by Newt’s reckoning, and from where he stood all he could see were broad shoulders in a tailored suit coat and a slick of pale hair. He had taken the route through the kitchen to avoid the crush of people mingling in the front parlor and had inadvertently stumbled onto some sort of — well, Newt didn’t know what it was but the blond man’s tone eliminated any need further context. 

“Order away, you’re not my master, and I’m not your dog” came a new voice, rough and masculine. Before Newt could register his surprise at the gender of the speaker, the sound of a slap echoed against the stone walls. Newt sprung around the corner into the kitchen just as the slap descended into a struggle of punches and snarls.

“Excuse me, what is the meaning of this,” Newt said, hoping his voice sounded more authoritative to others than to his own ears. The blond man turned to look at Newt, mismatched gaze furious. One side of his pale face was marked bright red, and his already-swollen lip was curled in a snarl. His hand was fisted in his opponent's hair, forced the shorter man down. The man on the floor was looking up as well, dark eyes meeting Newt’s from beneath thick brows. 

“I was merely having a conversation with my friend here about the intricacies of servitude,” the blond growled, but nevertheless moved to straighten his jacket as an excuse release the kneeling man. He paused to asses Newt once more, no doubt taking in the expensive fabric of his travelling coat. “Since that conversation is now over, I believe I will rejoin the party in the salon. Would you be so kind as to accompany me? The architecture of these great houses can be rather convoluted, wouldn’t you agree Mr…?”

“Scamander. Newton Scamander,” a small part of Newt relished in the brief flash of shock that raced across the other man’s features. It was one thing to assault a servant in front of another guest, but quite another to do so in front of a member of your host’s family. “I’ve just arrived and am tired from my journey, so I’m afraid I will decline, Mr…?”

“Gellert Grindelwald, very pleased to make your acquaintance,” came the reply, sounding every inch sincere. Newt smiled politely when Grindelwald offered a hand to shake and inclined his head in a brief nod. The hand hung unshaken between them. Grindelwald coughed and let it fall to his side casually, adjusting his coat once more before turning to the door. He nodded to Newt when he reached the door frame, pausing a moment to look back into the room. “Until next time, Mr. Graves.”

Silence reigned, accented by the receding clip-clop of Grindelwald’s shoes against the cobblestone flooring. Newt’s shoulders sagged visibly as the sound faded. The dark-haired man, Mr. Graves, was straightening from his crouch, flexing bruised knuckles ran a hand through his hair. His gaze caught on a few dark specks of blood flashing against the pristine white of his shirt. Confused, Graves’ hand drifted to his nose, coming away bloody as the man grimaced. 

“Cold water,” Newt suggested before his brain caught up with his mouth. 

“Cold water?” the other man replied, brows lifting as something close to amusement hovered around his mouth.

“Yes. Cold water. For the Blood. Soaking it in cold water will,” Newt choked eyes darting toward the tabletop before chancing their way back up again. Mr. Graves was still staring at him, bemused, which only made Newt flush darker. “It will help the stain come out.” 

“I suppose I should thank you,” Graves said, “for more than just advice about my laundry. The was very noble of you to speak out against Grindelwald like that.”  
“Please, there’s no need to apologize, Mr. Graves. He had no right-”

“Mister Scamander, I thank you again for your assistance,” Graves interrupted, sending Newt’s words stuttering to a stop. That was a dismissal if ever he’d heard one. Biting his lip, Newt nodded twice to the other man’s words. “Will you need me to show you to your room?”

“No, thank you, I can find it myself” Newt murmured, retrieving his cast-off luggage through a bubbling haze of embarrassment. He had overstepped a boundary. Who was he to give advice to this man, about power imbalances? And now Graves probably thought he was just boorish Grindelwald. With that thought he turned sharply on his heel, head low. “Good night, Mr. Graves.”

“Good night, sir.”


	2. Looking Back

Percival let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and watched Grindelwald’s broad shoulders stalk out of the room. There weren’t enough words for Percival to describe the extent of his distaste for the older German. Men like Grindelwald, who relied on brute strength and the privilege of their birth to get what they want, made Percival want to give up on humanity. Every time he was forced to interact with the man, Percival was one step closer to giving up his life at the Scamander estate and or some other honest, humble work, far from the scheming world of European politics. Men like Grindelwald also made Percival want to give up on men entirely and turn his attention towards the fairer sex. The thought made him exhale a sharp huff of laughter, drawing his attention back to his rescuer.

  
Newton Scamander. Newt. If Grindelwald made Percival want to give up men forever, Newt Scamander was there to remind him exactly why that was an awful idea. Percival’s crush on the younger Scamander was embarrassingly long standing and frustratingly fruitless. They had grown up together, in a way. Before Percival was Theseus’ valet, he was his playmate, despite the sideways glances at the sight of a servant’s son frolicking with the son of a lord. The difference of their births was never an issue to the boys growing up. Until puberty that is, when the pair were separated, Theseus to be educated as befitted his station and Percival to learn the finer points of serving a noble family. Their letters, full to the brim of descriptions of their daily lives slowed, stifled by time and distant.

  
As theseus studied latin at an all-male boarding school, Percival studied Mary Cole’s lips as he made to her in a back room of her father’s cafe. By the time Theseus had his first kiss with Susan Holloway, the daughter of his geometry tutor, Percival had discovered that he liked kissing boys just as much as he did girls. More than that, as Theseus was off kissing Susan Holloway, Percival watched as Theseus’ younger brother grew into his lankiness, lean muscle cording arms and legs, sun spreading freckles over supple skin. Not that Percival ever said more than three words to him outside of his official duties; the younger man had the incredible tendency to steal away Percival’s ability to speak and think and do anything other than stare. It was incredibly embarrassing. And inappropriate.

  
Newt was Theseus’ younger brother, and even if he wasn’t he was a nobleman’s son, just another reason why it was completely inappropriate to quicken every time he saw the other man. And now he was back. And currently standing under Graves’ unwitting scrutiny looking incredibly uncomfortable. The rest of their interaction was honestly a blur as the significance of what Newt had almost witnessed slammed into Percival before solidifying into painful embarrassment. How low Newt must think him, Percivals hand tightened into white-knuckled fists at his sides. Too weak to stand up for himself against a common bully, having to rely on another because he couldn’t muster enough courage to set a definitive end to Grindelwald’s advancements on his own.

  
As soon as Newt was out of the room, Percival slumped onto a chair, chest heaving as sucked in breath after breath. He was so weak, even his paltry attempts to defend himself were shut down easily. Grindelwald had slapped him down like a dog, and Percival had just taken it. Where was his wit then? The steadfast calm he always prided himself for? He wasn’t sure how long it took to steady his breath and for the shaking in his hands to ebb but he was almost himself when the bell from Theseus’ chambers sounded, summoning him back to his duties. He rose, straightening his waistcoat and adjusting his tie to cover the blood spotting his shirt.

 

\----

 

  
“Theseus?” Percival called, stepping into the suite of rooms connected to the master bedroom. His friend was sitting on the end of the bed, cravat undone and a glass of whisky cradled in his hand. Theseus looked up at the sound of his voice and from the soft sad concern in his eyes, he knew Theseus had talked to his brother. Percival sighed heavily and crossed to the dresser to pour a glass for himself before settling into an nearby armchair. “You didn’t tell me your brother was headed home.”

  
“He didn’t think he’d make it home until the twentieth,” Theseus started, “I wasn’t going to tell you until next week so you wouldn't fret. Thom got him settled in his old rooms already so you need not concern yourself with that.”

  
“Is that why you’re up here, to settle in your brother? And not because of the half dozen eligible young ladies throwing themselves at you. Surely I’m not the only one who sees through that ruse.

  
“They’re too young for me, and besides, I’m too busy to marry.” Theseus flapped a hand dismissively, a faint smile curving at his lips that quickly disappeared as he focused on the front of Percival’s shirt. “Percy, there’s blood on your shirt.”

  
“I know,” he replied, taking a deep sip from his glass. “It isn’t as bad as it looks, I don’t think anything will bruise.”

  
“Percival - “

  
“What did Newt tell you?”

  
“He told me Grindelwald had,” Theseus took a deep breath, “He said Grindelwald struck you. And had you on your knees in front of him.” When PErcival said nothing to deny Newt’s account, Theseus closed his eyes, rage building in the creases of his forehead. “Percival you don’t have to stay quiet about this, I could -”

  
“No Theece, it's his word against mine. I would painted as a lascivious sodomite trying to seduce my way to political influence faster than a count of three. Even if that weren’t the case no really one cares what men like him do in their free time. It might provide fodder for the press’ rumor mill for a couple of weeks but that is it. He’s too influential.”

  
“You’re right,” Theseus murmured, pausing before draining the remnants of his whisky in one gulp. “It infuriates me, but you’re right, damn it.”

  
“Of course I am,” Percival smiled, forcing humor into his voice, “I’m always right. That’s why our relationship works so well.” When Theseus smiled back it was dull and preoccupied. Something caught in Percival’s throat, seeing his friend’s concern for him so open, his care almost palpable.

  
“Come on, you git,” Percival murmured, “You are neglecting your guests. After all, you still have many beautiful ladies to disappoint this evening.” Theseus smiled and rose, standing in comfortable silence as he allowed Percival to retie his cravat and brush the creases from his evening jacket.

  
“Stay here and rest, Perce,” he urged. “Newt is just down the hall if you need some company. Heaven knows, he won’t be asleep until the sun is starting to stir again so you needn’t worry about rousing him.”

  
“Thank you, Theece,” Percival said as Theseus gave him one last sad smile and swept out of the room. Percival poured himself another generous pour sank back down into his chair. The likelihood he would willingly seek out the younger Scamander was very slim, but he had no problems seeking the company of Theseus’ liquor cabinet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments/critiques appreciated!


	3. Good Morning, Percival!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was such a huge gap between chapters! Hopefully I'll be back on my once a week schedule now :)

It wasn’t the early morning light shining in through the thin curtains of Percival’s chamber that woke him. He must have thrown off his internal clock last night, because he woke with a slight headache two hours earlier than usual. He rose quickly, drawing on piece after immaculate piece of clothing, and gave his boots an extra shine for good measure. Next he set his room to rights, straightening bed clothes, sweeping the hearth, dusting his spare jacket. He checked his watch; Theseus would not be awake for at least another two hours.

He exhaled softly, and checked the smooth slick of his hair in the looking glass one more time before heading out to the kitchen. Even if the master wasn’t up the grounds were already abuzz; maids bustled by with arms full of linens, porters rushed to and fro, and all of it carefully orchestrated by the Seraphina Picquery, the head housekeeper. Abernathy was the Estate Steward and technically Picquery’s superior, everyone in the house knew that she held the real power around the house. As Percival walked into the golden warmth of the kitchen, she was holding court in the kitchen, resplendent in a neat grey skirt and blouse. 

Percival gladly accepted a cup of steaming black nectar and nodded to Picquery before sliding into an empty seat. This was their tradition, every morning the main servants met to go over the day’s demands of the household over breakfast. The only two not seated around the large kitchen table were Queenie Goldstein and Jacob Kowalski. The newlywed couple darted and danced around the kitchen orchestrating the days meals as Head Chef and Baker respectively. They moved with a synchronicity that Percival never tired of watching, the kind of synchronicity of two people who know exactly how to cohabitat space with another person. It was the same familiarity that Percival himself shared with Theseus that made him such an excellent valet. 

Tina Goldstein passed him a plate with a roll and some small cheese and fruits and he gave her a grateful smile in return. Tina was the lady’s maid for any highborn ladies visiting the estate, but after the last butler left, she took up many of his duties making her, against all propriety, the acting butler. Percival admired Tina. She was bright, daring, and completely unapologetic for her bobbed hair, no-nonsense manner, and tendency to wear men’s clothing. 

“Mister Scamander and his guests will be breakfasting on the terrace today,” Seraphina began with a soft clearing of her throat. “After that, the men will be playing sports on the back lawn while the women will enjoy light refreshments and conversation. Mr. Graves, you and Miss Goldstein will accompany the groups. Murray and Folger will be on hand to assist in case the need arises.” 

Percival nods silently along to the chorus of “Yes Ma’ams” elicited by Picquery’s words. 

“Barebone,” she said and the young man looked up sharply. “While the younger Mister Scamander is here, you are to act as his valet, under Mr. Graves’ direction. Graves, after you fulfil your duties to Master Scamander, you will accompany Mr. Barebone to show him the ropes. Any questions?” 

“No Ma’am,” Creedence replied softly, eyes fixed on the wood grain of the table. 

“No Ma’am,” echoed Percival, arching an eyebrow at Seraphina. Creedence was fairly new to the household, and most wouldn’t have given such a large responsibility to one so inexperienced. Maybe she hoped he was too fresh to have heard the rumors of Newt’s extreme eccentricity. Either way, Percival was going to come face to face with his rescuer once again. The rest of the meeting passed by quickly, and it wasn’t long before the summons bells started ringing and everyone was off, scrambling to their duties. 

When he reached the main suite of rooms, Percival found Theseus still spread-eagled across his mattress and wasted no time yanking open the heavy curtains to bask the other man in bright sunlight. As Theseus began to grumble and toss, Percival moved efficiently about the room, drawing out an appropriate suit for Theseus and readying his toilette. It took half an hour and several cups of coffee to rouse a sleep-blurred Theseus enough to join his guests for breakfast.

“Good god man,” Theseus complained after Percival practically shoved him into his jacket. “You needn’t manhandle me!”

“Get over yourself, Theece, I have to go and train a brand new manservant to look after your brother.”

“Newt?” the taller man snorted out a laugh, “Please, Newt doesn’t need anyone looking after him. He barely tolerates being waited on in public, let alone in private. No doubt he’s been up since dawn writing.”

Percival froze, then took a step back to glare at his friend.

“You couldn’t have warned me?” He gritted out as he straightened Theseus’ tie with a little more force than necessary. 

“Are you practicing to become a hangman? And warned you about what?”

“You know how I am always here when you wake up?” Buttons had never been fastened with such vicious accuracy. “That is because it is a valet’s duty to be there in case his master needs something, more than that, to anticipate those needs.”

“Anyone who has met my brother knows he doesn’t play by society’s rules.”

“Nevertheless, It reflects poorly on me, and poorly on your household if -”

“Don’t give me that, Percival, you’re being a prick right now and you know it,” Theseus replied. “If anyone raises a fuss over your ability to perform your duties I will give them a talking to they’ll never forget.” They were standing still now, facing each other. Theseus rested a hand against Percy’s shoulder comfortingly and the emotion in his eyes made the shorter man look down. A beat of silence passed before either of them said anything, and it was Theseus who finally broke the silence.

“Is this about last night, about my brother finding you and Grindelwald?” he asked, and Graves flinched. “Because he won’t hold that against you, he’s-”

“I know he won’t,” Graves said softly, “I just- I don’t want him to pity me, or think differently of me. I’ve only met him once and under much less than ideal circumstances.”

“He won’t, I promise you he won’t. He’s not that sort of man.”

“Everyone is different around family. I don’t know what sort of man he is,” his frustration was plain in his voice. Theseus always idolized his baby brother, always without fault. Percival had heard enough stories about Newt to be hopeful about his character, but he also remembered the look in his eyes, the stunned embarrassment after he walked in on Grindelwald’s attempted assignation. Only his closest friends knew of he enjoyed the company of both men and women, it was a secret he guarded closely. Even under Theseus’ generous protection, it was a dangerous secret to have. 

Grindelwald had found out somehow and now used that knowledge as leverage. Who was to say that Newt wouldn’t do the same? People were, after all, different around their family, perhaps Theseus was wrong about his brother.Somewhere the sound of a clock chimed, snapping Percival out of his thoughts. 

“If it suits you, I’ll see to your brother now,” Percival said, breaking the silence between them. Theseus sighed, and squeezed his shoulder once before releasing him.

“Of course. Good luck, Percy.”


	4. Good Morning, Newt!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quicker update than usual! I mentioned it in the comments but I'm officially on Spring break now so I'm going to try and get as much writing done as possible so updates are more frequent! 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!

Credence was already waiting outside of Newt’s rooms when Graves approached. He was shifting his weight back and forth, alternatively fidgeting with the front of his coat and his tie. Credence joined the household around three months ago, showing up st the kitchen door in the middle of a literal thunderstorm, soaked through and sporting the most hideous haircut Graves has ever seen. The bruises across his face stood out bright against his pale skin but it wasn’t until later after a few drinks that Credence confided the full story: his mother, his sisters, the scars that laced his hands. From the start Queenie and Tina were his first champions, badgering Seraphina into offering him a position. 

That standoff between Tina and his Sera was not one Graves would forget anytime soon. He can still see it, Tina standing proud, chin lifted defiantly to stare down the taller woman, chest heaving from the impassioned plea she’d just delivered on Credence’s behalf. Now that had been a tense kitchen. The relationship between the two women had changed after that, a spark buzzed between them that Percival would have to be blind to miss.

Now, Credence’s hair had grown out a little, and fell in a shaggy mop around his ears. Perceval made a mental note to get the boy a damn haircut that suited him because his current look was not doing his elegant bone structure any favors. Percival offered a brief smile and a good morning to Credence, who was practically radiating nervous energy. 

“Are you ready?” he asked and Credence bobbed his head in reply and with that, Graves pushed open the doors to Newt’s suite. The sight of Newt sitting on the floor, long legs folded beneath him bathed in golden morning light momentarily stopped Percival’s heart. Professionalism, his mind scolded, but he could not help but admire the lovely way Newt’s curls fell about his face, the way his loose white shirt was open to the navel, the way his bright eyes darted up upon their arrival. Papers were scattered around him on the floor, several held by furry paperweights otherwise known as the kitchen cats. 

“Good morning,” Newt said, green eyes unreadable as he met Percival’s own. 

“Good morning, sir,” he responded, starting out of his Newt-induced trance. “This is Credence Barebone. With my assistance he will be looking after you this summer.” Credence gave a short bow in Newts direction but kept his gaze fixed securely on the floor. 

“Thank you,” Newt ducked his head, “Both of you, but I will not be needing much looking after.”

“Your brother said much the same thing,” Percival smiled, fighting hard to keep the overwhelming fondness out of his voice. “But nevertheless, we are here for your convenience. If you would like to join them, your brother’s guests are breakfasting on the terrace before proceeding out to the lawn for some sportsmanship.”

“Thank you, I will keep that in mind,” Newt murmured, but from the tense curl of his shoulders it was clearly not an exciting prospect. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to work on my writing for a bit.”

“Of course, Mister Scamander, sir,” Percival started before he was cut off by a chuckle from Newt. God that laugh. It was as clear and bright as the rays of sun wafting in through the window. Percival felt his insides melt even as his posture stiffened at the outburst.

“Please, Mister graves, call me Newt,” he said, “Mister Scamander is my brother, and before that, my father. Newt will serve just fine. That goes for you too,” he added, nodding towards Credence. 

This man is going to kill me, Percival thought, he is too much. He is too vibrant, unable to camouflage himself in the mundane; already he had irreparably disrupted Percival’s everyday. Instead of saying his thoughts aloud, giving words to the warmth in his chest, he simply nodded.

“As you wish, Newt,” he acquiesced. “Would you like breakfast brought here to you, so you may eat as you work?”

“Yes, that Would be lovely, thank you,” Newt replied, and the moment between them fizzled out, their brief sojourn into impropriety extinguished by Graves’ return to formality. 

“Of course. Mister Barebone will remain here to assist you while I alert the kitchens,” he excused himself and turned on his heel to leave, giving Credence a light pat on the shoulder as he passed. 

As soon as Newt’s door was shut behind him, Percival exhaled loudly. He wanted to slump against the wall, run his hands through his hair and shout but he settled for walking away from the room as swiftly as possible. What was he going to do with this impossible man. ‘Call me Newt’ he says, like thats a normal thing to do, like they were equals meeting over coffee in some high end restaurant, or at one of the parties Percival had only ever attended in uniform. This man was going to be his undoing, and it was maddening that Percival couldn’t find it in him to be concerned about it. 

Thoughts of Newt were pushed from his mind as soon as he reconnected with the hectic thrum of the kitchen. He found Jacob and passed along the request for Newt’s breakfast to be sent to his chambers and quickly found Seraphina, who told him Theseus had already left to bid good morning to his guests at the terrace. Graves thanked her, and she nodded before turning back to her conversation with Abernathy. 

Loud bursts of laughter forecasted the scene on the terrace even before Percival could push open the french windows and step into the sunlight. Tables had been set up, laden with fresh fruits, cheese, and delicate pastries, all equally decimated by the guests’ appetites. The men had already moved to the lawn, leaving their wives clustered around the tables, some playing cards, some reading or doing needlepoint, but all chatting and laughing under their broad-brimmed hats. Percival scanned over the crowd and nodded in approval seeing Murray hauling a fresh pail of ice towards the drinks table. 

Theseus’ distinct, deep laugh sounded over the light patter of the women, and it wasn’t long before Percival found him playing croquet with a group of the younger officers. Upon seeing his old friend, Theseus grinned and waved him over and Graves quickened his step in to carry him over the lush, verdant lawn. Theseus greeted him with a hearty clap on the shoulder and Graves noted with dismay he was sans jacket. No doubt it was strewn over a hedge somewhere.

“Everyone!” Theseus laughed, “Percival Graves, my valet.” Percival bent in a brief bow to the assembled lords, noticing with relief that Grindelwald was not among their number. Smiling and nodding as the game resumed without him, Theseus took a few strides away from the party, speaking low. “I forgot how tiring it is to socialize without you and sarcasm to keep me company. Really, for some of the highest regarded men in the country, not one is at all interested in anything other than war or hunting.”

“Well I’m here now, so no need to despair,” Graves murmured. “Your brother sends his regards, but will not be joining the festivities until later in the afternoon.”

“Figures,” Theseus snorted, gaze travelling over the assembled guests. “He always detested fêtes like these.” 

“Your turn, Scamander!” called one of the croquet players, and Theseus raised a hand in response before clapping Graves on the shoulder again and jogging back to rejoin the game. Percival watched the game with detached interest as he did a perimeter of the lawn to check on the other groups scattered across the green expanse. His thoughts were still inside, with Newt, thinking about the freckles scattered across his face, and the way the sun turned his air into rosy gold. His walk eventually took him to two tall oaks overlooking the tennis court, tucked away next to the house. He smiled as the breeze brushed against his face, cooler now he was in the shade.

Suddenly, the touch of the breeze was not a breeze anymore, it was a large hand running over the nape of Percival’s neck. He started back against the tree as its partner brushed against his hip and he came face to face with the mismatched eyes of Gellert Grindelwald.


	5. Wrong Place, Wrong Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooboy sorry for that cliffhanger last chapter! watch out for some violence and homophobia but also Theseus and Percy being bros so that's nice :)

“Percival,” Grindelwald drawled, “so nice to see you again.” 

“I wish I could say the same,” Perceval spat back, slapping away Grindelwald’s wandering hands with a snarl. Already his mind was running through escape opportunities. From their position behind the tree, no one on the terrace could see them, which meant less chance of gossip but also less chance of rescue. Alright, that was fine. He was fine. 

He was a Graves for God's sake he was more than capable of fending off a rich creep with a superiority complex. He tried put as much distance between himself and said creep as possible while still remaining under the trees cover. It was broad daylight, people would hear if he screamed. Not that he would need to. 

“Always so testy, Percy darling,” Grindelwald’s smile made crocodiles look friendly. “Why are you never happy to see me?”

“Stay away from me,” Percival was still retreating, but if he moved anymore whatever came next would have an audience. 

“But you’re just so…irresistible. Honestly I’m surprised the Scamander boy let you out of his bed this morning,” the German man mused, and Percival took a swing at him. In hindsight the burst of rage he was feeling inside must have shown on his face and predicted his move because Grindelwald side stepped the blow easily. Percival was quick to regain his balance, but his attack brought him closer to his opponent: exactly where he didn’t want to be. 

Grindelwald moved in a flash, seizing Graves by the lapels. The pair grappled momentarily, but eventually Grindelwald got the upper hand by driving an elbow into Graves’ side and using that brief distraction to slam him against the tree, arms pinned above his head. Why did I forget he’s had military training, Graves cursed himself. I should be better than this.

“Careful now, Percy,” Grindelwald whispered into his ear, as soft as a lover, “you might upset me. Now be a good boy and do as I tell you or else I’ll add assaulting your superior to your list of sins. We Wouldn’t want anybody to know your violent AND a sodomite, now would we?” 

Graves felt his stomach churn at having this man so close to him. This vile man ready to ruin Graves just because he wants to get his rocks off with the host’s help. He knew Grindelwald had the power to do it. He was a well connected man, who had his fingers in all the metaphorical pies. There was nothing Graves could do. So, although he knew it wasn’t very wise, he spat right into his captor’s face. 

Say what you would about Grindelwald, but the man delivered a stunning backhand, so stunning in fact that Percival’s vision went blank as he tumbled to the ground. Lucky for him it came back just in time to see the enraged face of Grindelwald sneering down at him, his face flushed bright red against the pale yellow of his hair. 

“- you dare,” he snarled. He must have been talking earlier but the ringing in Graves’ ears effectively tuned that out. Pride, it’ll get the best of you. And Grindelwald had pride in spades. Graves was able to struggle to his knees, and even land a satisfying punch to Grindelwald’s gut before the larger man threw him back down to the dirt. The kick that followed was not exactly surprising, anymore so than the second and the third were. 

“Get off him this instant,” came a steely voice and both Graves and his attacker recoiled. Theseus stood in front of them, his usual grin replaced by unwavering coldness. He was still holding a croquet mallet which somehow made him look infinitely more sinister, even if he was wearing a checked cap. 

“Oh I see, if it’s not one brother it’s the other,” Grindelwald sneered, straightening his jacket with a few vicious tugs. Theseus made something close to a growling noise deep in his voice but Grindelwald’s greasy smile didn’t waver. He cast a sideways look at Percival, “You really must learn to share your toys better, Scamander, it’s not nice to hog.” 

“I’m warning you, Grindelwald-” Theseus was cut off by Grindelwald’s laugh. 

“Do you really think I’m afraid of your threats? You have no power over me Scamander, no matter how many commanders you have under your thumb. You’d do well not to cross me,” Graves could see the way Theseus’ grip tightened around the mallet as Grindelwald turned on his heel and left and knew he wanted nothing more than to smash that smug bastards head in right then and there. 

“Theece,” Percival said from the ground, “help me up, would you?” 

“Are you alright?” His friend asked as he gently helped Graves to his feet. 

“I will be,” He replies with a wince, feeling one of his ribs give a sharp twinge. Hopefully that wasn’t broken. “He got the better of me. That’s all, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like this, Percy,” Theseus actually looked worried, God help them all. “After last night it just seems to focused, like he’s fixated on you out of boredom or as a way to get back at me or something.” 

“Are you sure it’s not just for my pretty face and hit arse?” Teased Graves, drawing a reluctant smile out of his friend. 

“You’ve no right to be joking, not when that pretty face is black and blue because your hot arse attracted the wrong people,” Theseus retorted, resting a hand on Graves’ shoulder. A peal of laughter sounded from one of the ladies on the terrace accented by the click-clack of the croquet game. 

“What are we going to do about Grindelwald?” Theseus’ voice was softer, joviality fading in favor of concern that made Percival let out a huff of frustration. 

“Nothing,” Graves said emphatically, “I won’t have you sticking your neck out for me, especially when no good will come of it.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Percy,” Theseus protested but Percival only shook his head. Grindelwald was right. He was too powerful, even for Theseus. 

“No. If you press this matter in your circles it won’t end well in mine, I’m sure of it,” 

“Alright. If that is what you wish, I won’t.”

“It is.” 

“Will you at least let me help you to the kitchen, find a nice juicy steak for that eye?” Theseus asked, running a hand through his auburn locks. 

“First a compliment on my pretty face and now dinner? You flatter me,” Percival joked, humor glinting in his dark eyes as the pair turned and made their way back to the house. 

“Oh shove off, Percy,” Theseus snorted.


	6. Is this a date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter? April fools! Jokes on you because here is... wait...

As the days passed, Newt found himself settling into a pattern. He would write all morning and most of the afternoon if he was lucky, then join Theseus and his guests for dinner. That was Theseus’ insistence. If Newt had his way, he would eat dinner in his rooms as well, with Credence and his soft voiced humor for company. Despite the evenings brin spent socializing, Newt’s manuscript was coming together rather well. Recently he’d been using the early morning sunlight to work on the illustrations that would decorate the book. Whenever he grew tired or bored he would explore the grounds with Credence at his side, re-familiarizing himself with the flora and fauna that had filled his childhood until the night inevitably faded someone called them in to eat.

In actuality, the dinners weren’t that bad. That is, as long as one ignored the noise and the constant cloud of testosterone polluting the table. After the first few nights spent sitting near his Theseus and his friends, and feeling the more uncomfortable for it, Newt found himself gravitating towards the women’s conversations. Most of them came from well-off households that could afford to educate their daughters, and as such were exceedingly well versed in all manner of topics.  
In them, he found engaging, thoughtful dining partners; some of them even showed a genuine interest in his work! Although he was somewhat of an authority on biology, he found himself upstaged by their knowledge of history, politics and philosophy. A few of them were aspiring naturalists themselves, asking Newt all manner of questions about his travels. One night, he found himself speaking animatedly about the mating habits of various indigenous birds well past dinner until Theseus had to pry him away.

“Come sketch with us tomorrow,” called one of the ladies, a Mrs. Faircloth if he remembered correctly. “None of us are half as good as you are but it will be such fun!”

After dinner, he spent the evening with his brother, catching up on the time Newt had been away. As Newt was regaled with all of Theseus’ recent escapades, they sat and talked, sometimes playing cards or chess until one of them decided to turn in. Newt was glad to be home. He’d missed his brother, missed the easy familiarity of sharing a glass of wine together in the comfort of their father’s study, a place seeped in their shared memories. Sometimes, Mr. Graves and Credence joined them in their games, if they needed more players, but for the most part they stood a little bit removed to offer the brothers some privacy and spoke quietly amongst themselves. 

It was not lost on Newt that in the early days of his stay, Mr. Graves’ face was colored in the purplish hues of fading bruises. Newt could recognize the way he carried himself unnaturally stiffly when he moved from his work with injured animals, but neither Theseus or Mr. Graves himself had anything to say on the matter. The first morning after the bruises appeared on Graves’ face, Newt tried to ask Credence about them but the younger man had replied with a quiet, “Mr. Graves is a very private person, Newt.” And that had been that. Time passed, the bruises faded, and Newt got more and more caught up in his work. 

In fact, he almost entirely forgot about that awkward night of his arrival, until he was out taking a stroll to stretch his legs one afternoon. The sun had pushed away all clouds, leaving the sky an unadulterated blue reminiscent of starling eggs. Newt was distracted from his gazing when saw Mr. Graves walking purposefully away from the casual pursuit of Mr. Grindelwald. They were on the far side of the lawn, closer to the woods that bordered the property than the house itself. Grindelwald gained enough ground to yank Graves around by the elbow, jerking the shorter man to face him.

“Ah! There you are, Mr. Graves,” Newt hailed him quickly. Both heads whipped around to look for the source of the voice. Newt jogged a few steps forward, raising one hand in a wave. Immediately Graves’ eyes snapped up to his own, before flicking over to Grindelwald. 

“Theseus said I might find you here, I wonder if you might accompany me to gather some plant samples?” Newt asked, pitching his voice to carry to where Grindelwald had halted in his steps. 

“Of course, Mr. Scamander,” Graves dipped his head in reply, before shoving himself away from Grindelwald, straightening and crossing swiftly to Newt’s side. Newt turned towards the wood, sparing a look behind him to see if Grindelwald was pursuing them. He was not. Instead he was standing there with a dark look on his face, frowning hard enough to wrinkle his pale complexion. 

“That’s the second time you’ve swooped in to my rescue,” Percival declared, matching his stride with Newt’s as they headed into the woods. “Are you going to make a habit of this?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t,” Newt stuttered, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were in need of help or anything. Or maybe you were. I am sorry, I just remembered-”

“There’s no need, Mr. Scamander, I understand,” Graves sighed. He looked tired and all of a sudden older than he was. At thirty-nine, Mr. Graves was two years younger than Theseus, but his dark hair was already shot through with more silver than the older Scamander’s. 

“Newt,” came the naturalist’s reply, barely audible over the snap of twigs underfoot. “Call me Newt.” 

“Well then, Newt, there’s no need to apologize. I imagine the manner of our meeting has irreparably painted me as a damsel in distress in your eyes.”

“No! Nothing of the sort!” Newt began earnestly before he saw the twinkle of humor in Graves’ eye. He was joking. That was a joke. Percival Graves had made a joke with him. Newt had seen it often enough with his brother, the rapport that pair shared was rival to none, but never had Graves’ dry sense of humor been directed at Newt himself. 

“Oh,” he trailed off lamely, making the other man laugh and oh goodness. His laugh. Help, Newt thought, I’m melting. He already thought the man’s voice alone was dreamy but his laugh? Oh it was rich and low and made Newt feel something stir in the pit of his stomach. Newt didn’t think he could handle hearing anymore of it but simultaneously wanted that to be the only sound he heard for the rest of his life. Oh goodness.

“Do you really need help gathering plant samples?” Graves asked, humor still tingeing his voice. By all accounts, he should have looked out of place with his crisp white shirt and immaculate uniform, but somehow, he didn’t. Instead he looked perfectly at home, like the sunny woods around him where his domain, and he their king. He is what Oberon would look like, Newt thought dreamily. “I would have assumed that a naturalist of your standing wouldn’t need help snipping a couple of clippings on his own.”

“No, I mean, yes. Yes I can get them on my own, I just would rather have some company,” Newt stammered, shaken from his daydreams of Graves in a wreath of dark leaves. He managed to refrain from adding ‘Your company’ to the end of that sentence, but just barely. “I actually don’t need any plant samples at all,” he admitted nervously. 

“Then you just wanted the company?” 

“Well, yes, if you don't mind it, Mr. Graves,” Newt started.

“If I am to call you Newt, please, call me Percival,” the other man interjected, stepping over a fallen log. “It is only fair.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Newt laughed. Percival smiled in return, one side of his mouth quirking up to make the smile just that much crooked. Newt found that whenever the other man smiled that warm melting feeling returned. He was a scientist, he could damn well notice a simple cause and effect relationship. Nevertheless, he concluded, he didn’t mind the feeling. Not at all. In fact, Newt found himself rather enjoying it.


	7. Brotherly Bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School on top of job interviews is killing me (and I got distracted writing other fics whoops) but this chapter was so fun to write :O hope you enjoy!

“You’ve been spending rather a lot of time with Percy,” Theseus stated, contemplating the chess board set out between them. Newt’s bishop halted in its journey to capture another of Theseus’ pawns. The pair were seated together in the library, alone save for each other’s company. Most of the household were given tonight off to mark the solstice, so neither Credence nor Mr. Graves were present and from the muted sounds of revelries echoing up from the nearby village, Newt reckoned that Midsummer celebrations were already in full swing.

“He is good company,” Newt blushed, depositing his piece and moving Theseus’ to the side. “And he’s been quite helpful in getting me reacquainted with the area.”

“Of course he’s good company,” Theseus snorted, “You know I only befriend people of the highest caliber, Percy included. Sometimes I worry you’ll steal him away next time you pack up and set sail for the next exotic locale on your agenda.”

“I can’t envision that happening,” Newt said with a smile, “Can you imagine Mr. Graves trekking across the Australian outback or boating through a rainforest? I can barely imagine him out his uniform, let alone in khaki.”

Theseus burst out laughing, and it took Newt a moment to realize it was not the idea of Graves in khaki that set him off. Newt’s blush deepened. 

“What I mean to say is,” Newt fumbled over his words, “Is that he seems very done up and proper, you know, not like … well you know me, I can’t keep a shirt on for five minutes without ripping it or dirtying it somehow, and his shirts are always so neat and pressed and…”   
“I know what you meant, Newt,” laughed Theseus, “but you should have seen your face when you started talking about him out of uniform.” Newt smiled down at the table top, purposefully avoiding the waggling eyebrows of his brother. 

“That’s quite enough of that, Theece, I won’t be made fun of for my taste in men.”

“I wasn’t laughing at your taste, brother dear, if Percy is your type you have impeccable taste,” Theseus interjected, “In fact, it means that good taste is hereditary. 

Newt froze. 

“Theseus, what is that supposed to mean?” Newt asked, his a riot of confusion. 

“Come on, Newt, you know I fancy men as well as women,” Theseus rolled his eyes again, and turned back to study the chessboard. “Percy and I have had our fun together, but we turned out better friends than lovers.”

“Then Percival is-?”

“Like me? Yes, he is. Though don’t go spreading it about, the man likes his privacy. I’m fairly certain Ms. Piquery and the Goldstein sisters know, they’re always rather good at shaking out the truth, but other than that, he’s had enough relationships with women that his other preferences are not common knowledge.”

“So if he is, then you two are -?”

“No, we were, Newt,” Theseus sighed. “Made time off during the war an absolute treat, but no, like I said, some things just don’t work out in the long term. It helps that we never agreed on who would top…”

“Theseus!” Newt exclaimed, fighting the childish urge to cover his ears. This was a development to be sure. In five minutes going from having a seemingly hopeless crush on an untouchably handsome, charismatic man, to realizing that crush may not be so hopeless, to finding out that your crush and your brother were former lovers. It was a lot, even for Newt. 

That aside, it did explain they bond between Percival and his brother. Theseus was always more sociable as a child, having a great many good friends, but few close friends. Newt always wondered about that. About how his social brother had attracted a reserved man like Percival and appointed him as his best friend and confidant. They say opposites attracts, but going spending the war fighting at each other’s side, and apparently their nights in each others beds explains the comfortableness they had together completely. 

“And you’re wrong about him,” the humor had faded in Theseus’ eyes, replaced by a bright spark. “About Percival always being neat and tidy. He isn't afraid to get dirty. He grew up working on a farm, and the trenches weren’t exactly neat and tidy themselves. He owns clothes that are more than black and white, but only wears them when he’s around people who won’t judge him based on appearance and birth alone. No matter that cool facade, he cares about reputation, about how people view him and if they respect him. That’s why he dresses the way he does, it’s more than just his style, it’s part of his image.”

A moment of quiet settled between them, as Newt pondered his brother’s passionate defense and Theseus in turn, pondered his brother. They were so vastly different and yet, sometimes they were so similar it spun Theseus’ head. They were both charming in different ways, shared the height and the looks, shared a courageous nature and both fell for the same man. Leave it to Percival Graves to capture the heart of not one, but two Scamander brothers. 

Their pensive silence continued until Theseus moved his queen to call a soft ‘checkmate.’ Newt cursed under his breath, but it was a joking sort of curse that lent smiles to their faces instead of frowns. Theseus stretched back in his chair and took a long gulp of his whisky.

“And that is why you don’t challenge the master, Newt,” he sighed contentedly, crossing his arms behind his head. Newt exhaled a sharp huff of laughter as he set about returning the pieces to their proper places for another game.

“You’re right,”he said, “I really should know better by now. Even though I’ve beaten you for the past three consecutive games, and was really only a matter of luck that you won this particular game.”

“Ah yes, luck and the fortunate distraction of Percival Graves keeping your attention divided,” Theseus laughed. “It all falls in my favor, brother. Speaking of which, it is currently in my favor to go and get some rest. There’s a dance tomorrow evening to celebrate Midsummer in the fashionable, wealthy way which sadly means no flower crowns and no beer for me.” 

“A dance? Here?” Newt asked. He hadn’t heard anything about a dance, or seen any of the preparations that usually heralded such an event. 

“No, actually, at your friend Lady Highburn is playing hostess,” Theseus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked tired, more tired than he usually was, that is, Newt thought with dismay. If Newt didn’t know better he would say that Theseus was starting to look his age. “Actually, she has specifically requested your presence tomorrow night, so you’ll be expected to come along as well. Have you anything to wear?”

“What do you mean, to the dance?”

“I will take that as a no, and I suppose you’ve outgrown anything leftover in your closet from the last time you were here? Ah well, someone will be by in the morning to fit you into one of my old suits,” Theseus stood, knocking back the rest of his drink. “Now, if you’ll excuse an old man to get his sleep, I think I’ll bid you goodnight.” 

Newt wished him the same and the two hugged before Theseus turned to depart. He stopped in the door frame, a smile curving at his lips. “Oh and Newt, if you did want to go into the village to enjoy some of the more humble festivities, I think I recall Percy saying he was going as well. You know, if you are interested. Anyway, I’ll be off to get my beauty rest now.” 

“Vanity will get the best of you,” Newt called after his brother.

“Enjoy the beer!” came the reply.

Newt sat for a moment, thinking. He had several options. He could retire to his room and get some work done on his manuscript, or he could stay in the library and read, or even search out the stars in the clear night sky. Or, he could go out and enjoy himself like Theseus suggested. Maybe dance. Maybe get a little drunk. Maybe wear a flower crown. Maybe collapse onto his bed afterwards and dream of men with strong, elegant hands and sleek raven hair.


	8. Midsummer Part One

The household was abuzz with excitement all day, looking forward to the annual Midsummer’s celebration. Already, the off-key squak of musicians tuning their instruments sounded from the village The hallways were full of light and laughter and garlands of flowers trailed over every empty sconce and statue available. Tonight was for the humble folk, for the servants and their families to let loose together under the stars and moon. Sure Theseus’ expectations for his staff weren’t overzealous but when offered a night off to spend with their friends, everyone leaped at the chance. 

Percival and Tina were waiting for their own evening to begin. More specifically, they were leaning on the wall outside Seraphina’s rooms waiting for her to finish getting ready. Tina herself was dressed quite prettily in a fetching blouse and a pair of men’s trousers altered by her sister to fit her smaller frame. Percival himself was wearing one of his more casually in a dark green waistcoat and simple black suit. So far they had only been waiting about ten minutes, passing the time with idle chatting and the occasional piece of gossip. 

“Teenie!” squealed a voice from down the fall, and the pair turned to see Queenie Goldstein bounding down the hall, her husband in tow. Her blonde curls were restrained by a crown of pink roses to compliment her fluttering array of skirts. Kowalski was also a woven crown with small yellow flowers peeking out of his dark curls. Queenie released her sister from a tight squeeze and turned her brilliant smile on Percival. “Oh hiya Percy, you certainly look dashing tonight. We were half feared you’d leave without us!”

“We wouldn’t dare!” Tina exclaimed, extending a hug to her soon to be brother-in-law. “We were just waiting on Seraphina.”

“Not any longer,” the woman herself announced, stepping out of her room and fastening the door behind her. Seraphina was wearing a lovely pale grey dress that, as did all of her clothes, accentuated her powerful shoulders and slim physique. Percival certainly didn’t miss the way Tina’s dark eyes traced over said physique with an appreciatory gleam. “Lovely to see you all.”

“Lovely to see you as well,” Queenie grinned, taking both Jacob and Tina by the elbow and propelling them forward. “Now, let's go! I can’t wait any longer.” 

Percival turned sharply to offer his arm to Seraphina in a gallant bow. Her painted lips quirked up in a smile as she rested her wrist delicately on Percival’s proffered arm. Together, they trailed after the trio at a more sedate pace, taking their time to enjoy the soft summer zephyrs breezing about them. The lights from the village were a warm beacon as they made their way from the manor house and the sound of laughter and soft music promised a lovely evening. 

“You look almost relaxed tonight,” Seraphina mused, knocking her shoulder against Percival’s, “or are my eyes getting as old as the rest of me?” 

“It must be your eyes. After all, your birthday isn’t too far off,” Percival deadpanned, earning another shove from his friend. 

“I’m only two years older than you, Percy, if I’m old then so are you. And you have the grey hairs to prove it.”

“Grey hair is an attribute of wise, distinguished men and, -”

“Don’t forget about the drooling grandfathers,” Seraphina tilted her head back as she laughed, making the moonlight catch and pool at her smooth neck. Percival found himself smiling as well, despite the insults being heaped upon him. He didn’t mind. He found he couldn’t mind, not tonight, here with his friend under the beautiful night sky. He sighed contentedly as her laugher slowed to a stop.

“You look beautiful tonight, Sera, I hope you don’t mind me saying so,” Percival said as the path underfoot turned to roughly paved streets. The town was even more decorated than the house had been. The houses were decorated with sprigs of green and everyone in sight was bedecked in garlands of wreaths of all kinds. Branches of candles lit the sides of the houses, turning a simple flower into a jungle of shadow against the pale house, but also lending a rosy tint to each and every cheek.

“You know I never mind a little flattery,” she said with a smile, stopping to buy a wreath of dark green leaves and one with dusty purple flowers from a girl selling them on the side of the road. Percival smiled at the girl and bid her a fateful Midsummer as Seraphina placed the purple crown upon her own pale locks. The other she held up, turning to Percival with a grin, one pale eyebrow raised, “How many drinks do I have to buy you before you wear this willingly?” 

“At least three,” he replied with a mock-stern frown. 

“Then we should rejoin the others and get started,” Sera smirked. They soon found Tina and Jacob clustered around a booth selling hot sweet buns covered in sugar and spice. Tina must have just taken a bite of one, because warm sugar clung to her cheeks as she raised a hand and a bright smile to greet Percival and Sera. 

“There you two are,” Jacob exclaimed, shoving two paper-wrapped pastries in their direction. His flower crown had been joined by a bright pink scarf, presumedly gifted from Queenie’s neck.

“They’re not as good as Jacob’s,” Tina said, wiping the sugar off of her mouth as she led the group to a nearby table. “But they’re pretty close. And Queenie is on her way with drinks!” 

Percival groaned at her words and Tina turned to Seraphina in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“This one,” Seraphina nodded towards Percival. “Refused to wear a wreath sober, so the first three drinks are his so he can properly get into the holiday spirit.” 

“What’s this about getting into spirits?” Queenie asked, two trays balanced gracefully on her arms, no doubt won from the local inn with a great amount of charm. She placed the trays on the table and Seraphina promptly took set three of the drinks in front of Percival. 

“I made an unwise deal with Seraphina,” Percy sighed, “Sera, just give me the damned crown so I don’t end this night under the table.” He extended a hand to his friend. She slapped the hand aside and nestled the crown in his dark hair with mock ceremony. 

“Wise choice,” Sera simpered, patting his shoulder and reaching for a mug of beer. She took a long sip. “But the deal still stands. Everyone, make sure that every three drinks, Percy gets another garland!”

“You’re going to look like a bush by the time we’re through with you,” Queenie giggled. Tina’s face showed just as much glee as her sister’s did, and when Percival turned beseeching eyes to Jacob, he had a faintly apologetic smile decorating his face. So no help there. 

The night wore on, with drinking and joking and even some dancing. Percy now had a wreath of bright yellow and purple blossoms in addition to the original dark leaves. Somehow Jacob seemed to be collecting articles of Queenie’s clothing, namely a sweater that was draped over his shoulders and dark pink cap. Seraphina and Tina gravitated towards each other as the evening wore on; sitting beside each other whispering and snickering eventually evolved into dancing and whispering and snickering. Tina and Seraphina inspired Queenie and Jacob to take to the large area in the center of the square cleared for dancing, leaving Percival alone at their table, watching the bright whorls of the women’s skirts flashing against the night. 

He let his eyes wander from the dancers to the booths of food and drink. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Mothers bounced their children on one hip while lovers huddled close and rowdy young men found games to entertain their rowdiness. Then, in the crowd, Percival caught a flash of auburn in the crowd that set his heart to thudding. It was Newt, dressed in naught but a white shirt and suspenders weaving his way through the crowd. 

Their eyes caught and held through the bobbing heads and swishing skirts. Newt smiled and waved and Percival found himself smiling involuntarily back at him. Boy, was he in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me trouble :(


	9. Midsummer Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So not gonna lie uni has been torture and writer's block is a bitch. Thank God for Fall Break. Enjoy :)

Newt weaved his way through the busy crowd, ducking and dodging dancers as they whirled past. Queenie and Jacob were an unmistakable burst of pink against the lamplit darkness, swirling together in a rush of easy laughter and heartfelt glances. He raised a hand in greeting to the pair, and they smiled joyful in response. More surprising was the sight of Tina tucked close against Ms. Picquery’s as they swayed together to the soft swells of the music. To an outsider they would look like to friends taking enjoying a dance without the implications of dancing with a man, but Newt knew better. 

He remembered the night he’d confessed to Tina about his feelings towards men. They were huddled close together around the kitchen fire, he was barely twenty and she only two years his elder. He’d spoken in whispers, fear of rejection making his voice timid and unsure. It was an unfounded fear. A laugh like a bubbling brook spilled from her lips and she had slung one arm around his shoulders, and kissed him firmly on the cheek. She felt that same way about women, she had assured him. He wasn’t alone. 

Over the years, he’d known of Tina’s various dalliances with other women, just as she knew of all the fumbled kisses he’d shared with men. A peripheral knowledge of each other’s love lives was essential to their friendship. No matter who came in and out of their lives, however, they knew they’d have each other, much as Newt would always have Theseus. In many ways he thought of her in the same respect, the sister he had by oath if not blood. Tina had Newt’s back and he had hers. 

So he was happy to see her laughing and smiling with Ms. Picquery, even if Newt was petrified of the intimidating woman. Tina caught his eye and smiled, inclining her head in the direction of a familiar dark haired figure reclining at a nearby table.   
Mr. Graves was out of uniform, and if Newt thought he looked good in uniform, he looked doubly good out of it. His dark green waistcoat played against the white of his shirt, whose sleeves were rolled up about his forearms, and some of his hair fell about his face, loose strands blowing gently against his forehead. He looked like everything Newt had ever wanted.

On top of that, he was bedecked in garlands of flowers and leaves, wreaths winding about his limbs, bracing the muscle of his arms and making him look more like an ancient god of the hunt than a man. He made Newt think of Shakespeare’s Oberon, king of the dark woods at midnight, of fairy circles, of danger and temptation.

“Good evening, Mister Scamander,” he drawled, his accent was more pronounced (probably the drink) and a faint smile graced his lips (also probably the drink, but maybe… Newt couldn’t help but hope that maybe he was part of that smile as well). 

“Good evening, Mister Graves, it’s lovely to see you again ” Newt breathed, his throat closing around the words. Blood rose in his cheeks as Percival smiled broadly in return. What was he saying? He must look like an idiot standing here in his hand-me-down suit bumbling over his words, especially in front of a man as suave and well- mannered as Mister Graves. 

“It’s lovely to see you as well,” Graves replied, inclining his head softly. “Would you care to join me?” Newt nodded, words failing him as he scrambled to sit down next to him. The other man shifted, reaching behind him to grab a drink for Newt, inadvertently knocking their knees together. Newt gulped. He was suddenly intensely conscious of that connection. He thought back to Theseus’ grin in the library, his raised eyebrows, his insinuations. He was so caught up in his thought he missed the opportunity to jerk his knee away so that when Percival twisted back to offer him the mug, their thighs were pressed firmly together. He gulped again.

“I like your flowers,” he blurted, scrambling to think of something more engaging to say. Or really anything that didn’t make him look like an absolute ninny. But instead of frowning, or mocking him, Graves tipped his head back and laughed.

“Thank you, really I think it’s excessive but it is a celebration after all, and what’s a celebration without looking like a bit of a fool?” Newt felt his heart flutter at the roguish smile Percival flashed his way. Of this really wasn’t fair. He quickly took a sip of his beer to cover for his pause, pushing aside his inclination to dislike it for its bitter taste. He was going to drink this beer and he was going to like it. Graves was still looking at him, smiling fondly. 

“You have a bit of foam,” he said softly, fishing a handkerchief from his vest and dabbing at Newt’s lip before he could say a word. The action moved him close to Newt’s face, where he stayed, a breath away even after the kerchief was withdrawn. “There.”

“Thank you, Mister Graves,” Newt said, looking down from those soulful brown eyes before he drowned in them. Carefully, as if Newt was a deer liable to start off at any provocation, Graves rested his hand on Newt’s thigh. Newt’s breath caught in his throat and he looked back up into the other man’s face. “Mister Graves, I-”

“Please, we’ve talked about this, call me Percival,” he corrected, calm as a mountain lake. 

“Percival,” Newt started more firmly, “I’m not sure if this is-”

“Do you want me, Newt?” Percival asked. “Not just as a friend, but as a man wants another man? I know its not proper. I know that I’m being overbold right now. I know that you’re a fine gentleman and I’m just a servant - your brother’s servant, no less - but I want you Newt. I’ve seen the way you look at me, I’d have to be blind not to, but have you seen how I look at you? Every word from your lips sets my heart afire, and each smile is a gift from the heavens. I want you, Newt. If you’ll have me. However you’ll have me.”

Newt felt the world slow, the lights and music in the background blurring, leaving just the two of them alone in this perfectly impossible moment. Graves was staring at him, worry lining his brow, waiting for his response. He felt himself flush. Of course he wanted Percival. How could he not? Percival was everything he admired in a man, strong and charismatic and commanding in a way that shook Newt to his core. How could he not want this man?

Percival drew in a breath, but before he could spill any more silver-tongued poetry, Newt leaned forward and kissed him. Percival paused, and for a breath Newt started to worry, but then Percival was kissing him back. His hands reached up to cup his neck, returning the kiss deeply and passionately. Newt’s own hands came up to brace themselves against Percival’s broad chest, smoothing over the leaves at his collar. 

They broke apart breathlessly, and Newt felt his lips quirk up in a blissful smile. Percival was looking at him, and Newt now recognized the adoration in the other man’s eyes. From their left, a whoop brought them back to the reality of the festival. Their friends were scattered around them, each looking on with amused glancing. Jacob let out another cheer and Queenie started clapping from the edge of the dance floor. Newt blushed furiously, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Lay off, you lot,” Percival complained, flapping a hand at them. “Mercy Lewis, you act like you’ve never seen a kiss before.”

“We have, just not one so...thorough,” Queenie giggled, making Newt blush even harder as Tina let out an unladylike guffaw. Percival slung an arm around Newt’s neck to pull him forward into another kiss, one that was even more thorough than the last one much to Newt’s shocked bewilderment.

“Now that was a thorough kiss,” Percival smirked when he finally pulled away, ignoring another series of whistles and jibes. “Now shall we show them how to dance as well?”

“It’d be my pleasure,” Newt mumbled, his heart still racing wildly in his ribcage as Graves stood, offering Newt a hand and leading him to the dance floor. It turned out, Percival danced as passionately as he kissed and Newt was soon out of breath, laughing joyfully as his partner spun him round the dance floor, bodies pressed close together. Newt smiled; he certainly could get used to this.


	10. Midsummer Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sapppyyyyyyy but don't worry there's more angst on the way ;)

They danced more, drank more, kissed more, cocooned from the world by their friends and the festivities around them. Newt had gained nearly as many garlands as Percival had, blue blossoms and green leaves setting off the rich auburn of his hair, even in the dying light from bonfire. And so, the sun was peeking over the treetops when Newt and Percival finally stumbled back to the manor house.

The kitchen was the only place alive at that hour, mostly with bakers going about their early-morning business, so they met no one else as the picked their way through the corridors. They walked hand in hand, pausing frequently to kiss in the shadowy alcoves of pre-dawn light, like lovers on the lam. When they reached the door Newt’s chambers, Percival pushed Newt and kissed him breathless. 

“Percival,” Newt moaned when they finally drew apart, his hands tangled at the nape of his lover’s neck. He giggled unexpectedly. His lover. Percival was his lover! And Newt was his lover! He pressed his forehead to the other man’s content to rest there. 

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming,” Percival murmured, ignoring the tickle of the leaf crown against his brow. “I would hate to have this happen only in a dream. I want this to be real.” 

“This is real,” Newt soothed, his hand brushing Percival’s cheek. He kissed him again. “I promise this is real.” 

“Newt, how are we going to do this?” Percival asked, breaking the kiss as he wrenched himself backwards. Newt huffed at the loss of contact his arms still entwined around the other man. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Newt promised, “We’ll make it work.” 

“How? Newt-” Newt cut him off with a kiss but Percival was determined, jerking back once again. “Newt I’m trying to be serious here.”

“I already told you, we’ll figure it out,” Newt repeated, hands raking back through salt-and-pepper hair, freeing it from its leafy circlet. Percival’s eyes fluttered shut. “You want me, Percival, you said so yourself, and I want you. We’ll figure out the rest when we get to it.”

“Both of us have reputations to uphold,” Graves insisted, brow creased with worry. “Tonight was one thing, I doubt anyone will remember seeing us together, but we’ll have to be more careful.”

“And we will be. You are a valet after all, I can imagine it would be easy to find excuses to spend time together,” Newt said with a sly smile. He could imagine plenty of duties Graves could assist him with, innocent and not.

“But I’m not your valet,” Percival started then sighed, looking down. After a beat he raised his eyes back up to Newt’s with a wry tilt to his head. “I’m sorry. I’m worrying too much, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are. But you can make it up to me.” Newt traced his hand down Percival’s chest, lingering over the buttons on his vest.

“Oh yeah?” Percival asked as he closed the distance between them, his broad hands coming up to rest on Newt’s waist. “And what is it that I can do for you, sir?”

Newt blushed pink furiously as Percival leaned in for a kiss, but was prevented from answering by the door to his room suddenly swinging outward, expelling a tousle-haired Credence.

Credence’s eyes shot wide open, taking in Newt and Percival and how close they were standing. And also, no doubt, the placement of their hands, Newt’s flushed face and the way Percival’s body crowded him against the wall. Credence wheezed before promptly turning around and marching right back into the room. The door slammed shut definitively behind him.

Newt and Percival looked at the surface of the closed door, then at each other before breaking into giddy laughter. Newt was wiping tears from his eyes when the two of them finally settled down enough for Percival to choke out, “Tomorrow. We’ll start being careful tomorrow.”

Newt grinned and kissed him thoroughly. Percival made a low sound in his throat when Newt finally pushed him back. 

“I should go,” he said, smiling despite himself. “Credence probably has questions.”

“Yes, you should. Go comfort the poor lad, he’s probably scarred,” Percival’s laugh made something clench in Newt’s chest. “And I should get to bed myself. Goodnight, Newt.”

“Goodnight, Percival,” Newt replied, accepting Percival’s lingering kiss goodbye. He smiled to himself as the dark-haired man turned and walked towards Theseus’ suite, sending one last look over his shoulder. Newt prompted him on with a shooing motion, but delayed entering his rooms to watch the retreating sway of Percival’s hips. He blushed and turned to go into his rooms.

Credence was waiting for him. Or, more accurately, he was sitting on the bench at the foot of Newt’s bed with his head in his hands. Newt shut the door gently behind himself, causing Credence to startle. His mop of dark hair was in disarray, no doubt from running his hands through it repeatedly. His hands were clenched firmly in his lap, wrung together so tightly the boy’s knuckles were white. He looked terrified. 

“I am so sorry, sir, I thought I heard voices and I assumed that it was you coming back from town and that you were probably wanting me to help you prepare for bed,” Credence blurted out, cheeks painted pink with embarrassment against his normal pallor. Newt considered him for a moment, then sat carefully on the bench beside him. 

“I won’t say anything I promise! I wouldn’t say anything ever. I’m sure I misunderstood, I just woke up after all, and it was dark, I could have imagined it. Please, I won’t tell anyone I swear,” Credence pleaded. The boy looked close to tears.

“Credence it’s alright, I believe you,” Newt said, nudging the younger man with his shoulder.

“And even if I didn’t imagine it,” Credence went on as if Newt hadn’t said anything, “Mister Graves says a valet is valued by his loyalty, and I am loyal, I wouldn’t tell anyone what I saw, even if it was Mister Graves doing the kissing. If that is what I saw, that is, and I’m not saying that it is.”

“Credence,” Newt repeated, smiling openly now. “It’s alright. Mister Graves and I were kissing, you weren’t imagining things. And I do not doubt your confidences, or your skill as a valet.”

“But,” Credence looked earnestly confused now, “But you’re both men. How were you were kissing if you’re both men? Ma said it was sin for man to lie with man as he lies with woman.”

“Well he doesn’t lie with man exactly as he lies with woman,” Newt muttered, more to himself than anything. “There are some marked differences.”

“But I know Mister Graves,” Credence continued, eyebrows coming together as he looked down, fidgeting with the sleeves of his coat. “And I’m starting to know you and I can’t imagine either of you sinning on purpose. Especially Mister Graves,” Credence blanched, “No offence meant, Sir!”

“None taken,” Newt sighed, looking down at his hands. “Credence, I’ve seen the scars on your hands. You haven’t told me much about your family, nor is that necessary, but if your mother was in any way complicit with how you got those scars, I’m not sure you should rely on her word as the be-all-end-all of morality.” 

Credence stilled. Newt doubted anyone could freeze so entirely unless they’d set eyes upon Medusa herself. After a beat of leaden silence, Credence moved his head to look at Newt. Newt had obviously hit upon a sore subject, judging by the look on Credence’s face. There was something dark in his eyes, something haunted welling up past the glint of tears gathering in his eyes. Newt cursed himself internally for once again putting his foot in it when it came to social relations.

“She said I deserved it,” Credence confided softly, his throat bobbing, and Newt’s heart bled for him. He was looking down at his hands now, staring at the thick ropes of scars lining his palms with tears running down his cheeks. 

“Then she was wrong on more than one account,” Newt smiled gently, resting his hand on Credence’s shoulder. “When I look at you I see your kindness, and your intelligence, and your resourcefulness. I see a man who I admire, who I would hazard to consider my friend. You most certainly did not deserve it.”

Without warning Credence flung himself at Newt, his arms wrapping around him in a clumsy embrace. There were far too many bony limbs and knobby joints for the hug to be comfortable but Newt smiled nonetheless, holding Credence as the younger man sobbed into his chest. They stayed that way for an indeterminate length of time before the sobs wracking Credence’s body subsided and the boy pulled back, a rueful look in his red-rimmed eyes.

“‘M sorry, Newt, I shouldn’t have attacked you like that,” Credence sniffled. “No one’s ever told me that before. Or been so kind to me. I’m honored that you would even consider being friends with someone like me. I haven’t got many friends.”

“Then I am delighted to join their ranks,” Newt replied with mock-solemnity, making the younger man smile and duck his head. “But if you wouldn’t mind I am rather tired. Kissing gorgeous men can really tire you out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! (not beta'd)


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